Narcissa
by JamieStryderFTW
Summary: A few scenes from the last three Harry Potter books from Narcissa's point of view. "My name is Narcissa. Narcissa means numbness, after the plant of that name and its effects. I am a Death Eater, a follower of Voldemort. And I am not numb at all."
1. Endure

**So, basically, Narcissa is one of my favorite characters, and I wanted to write about her. I don't think she's given nearly enough credit for being such a complicated character. This probably isn't a one-shot, but I wanted to write some things from her point of view, because I think she's pretty amazing. These are a series of moments from Narcissa's point of view; some in the book, some will not have been. I don't know how many there will be; I already have three with at least one more planned. I don't own Harry Potter (haha, I wish I had that much money). Please enjoy and tell me what you think.**

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My name is Narcissa. Narcissa means numbness, after the plant of that name and its effects.

I am a Death Eater, a follower of Voldemort.

I am an accomplished Occlumens, a passable Legimens, a mildly talented witch, and according to most a great beauty.

I am a Pureblood of the most noble house of Black.

I have married into another old, Pure, and rich family.

I am the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange.

I am the wife of Lucius Malfoy.

I am the mother of Draco Malfoy.

And I am not numb at all.

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I am awakened in the early hours of the morning by my personal house elf. "Mistress, there are Ministry officials at the door; they wish to speak to you," she squeaks, snapping her fingers as I sit up to levitate my dressing gown so I can step into it. I check myself in the mirror; while I know my appearance shouldn't matter, the wife of a rich and influential member of Pureblooded Wizarding society cannot look like any filth who has just rolled out of bed. I have no makeup, but given the early hour they will not expect any; my hair is carefully braided. I am presentable enough, though I wonder why I have to be. Why would the Ministry call at this early hour? I pick up my wand before I go; even in my own home, it is never safe to go about unarmed.

Apparating to the front door – it is a large house and it will not do to keep the Ministry waiting – I open the door. "Yes, gentlemen?" I say politely.

"Ma'am, we have a warrant to search this residence for any and all Dark artifacts and other evidence connected to the Dark Arts or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," the man says coldly. "Please step aside."

I pale, but allow them in; there is nothing else I can do. "What is the reason for this invasion of my home?" I demand, every inch the offended aristocrat.

"Your husband was apprehended in the early hours of the morning in the Department of Mysteries along with several other known Death Eaters, assaulting Harry Potter, along with several of his schoolmates. He is currently in Azkaban awaiting trial. We are here to collect evidence."

I sway. Lucius caught, Lucius in Azkaban…I cannot comprehend this. My husband is one of the most powerful men in the wizarding world; he is rich and connected both politically and otherwise. The idea of him being cold and alone in prison, accompanied only by dementors and the despair that they use to poison what seems like the very air you breathe, this is unimaginable, and the fact that it is true is nearly enough to break me.

With the most strength I think it has ever taken me, I make my way to one of the chairs placed in the room for visitors, folding my hands in my lap. "I do not know what you wish to find," I tell them, using every ounce of my Occlumency training to control my emotions and cover the lie, "but carry on. I will await the end of your search." My voice does not shake, and for that I am grateful. I am both a Black and a Malfoy; we do not simply break down and cry, even at things like the loss of one's husband and the invasion of one's home.

Even so, I must bring to bear every ounce of my self-control to not collapse on the floor, weeping and pleading for mercy. With everything in me I am aware that my husband is suffering, and were I allowed, I would walk into Azkaban itself to ease his pain. I remember everything my mother ever taught me about the strength of a woman – men may think that we are weak and need protecting, but beneath every delicate exterior there is a core of steel; how else could we survive bleeding, childbirth, the pain and outright torture of being a woman? And every time we suffer we must show that steel; a good woman does not wail and moan and cry like a common trollop. She endures.

And I must endure. Because were I to race to Azkaban to hold Lucius and give him some kind of hope though the torture of the Dementors, what would happen to Draco? What would happen to my son? It is for Draco that I must survive, that I must stay out of Azkaban, because he is fifteen, and even if he wishes he were not, he is still a boy, and he will need his mother after the loss of his father. He will need his mother when the real world finally comes crashing into his life.

I sit there for what seems like hours, my hands laced together, staring straight ahead and willing myself to remain strong. It is the hardest thing I have ever done, and it takes all of my self-control, but I do it, if only to preserve what is left of the dignity of my family and myself.

I only move when the Ministry official reenters the room. "Several suspicious items were found in your residence, ma'am. I am going to have to ask you a few questions before we leave."

He is still respectful, even though my husband is in jail, I note distantly, coldly. It is not so easy to destroy the dignity of hundreds of years of powerful ancestors. "Of course, sir."

"Did you have any knowledge of any of these items being in your residence?"

"Are you accusing me of something, sir?" I say, my most haughty expression daring him to call me on the lies that are about to come forth. "I knew nothing of them. I am sure you must be mistaken."

"I'm afraid not, ma'am. Did you know what your husband was doing tonight?"

I send a silent apology to my husband; even though he will never hear me lie, I can hardly bear to do anything to betray him. "I did not."

"Your son attends Hogwarts School, does he not? Is he still there?"

"I would think the school would notify me if my son had gone missing, sir; as they have not, I must assume he is."

He nods, and his jaw tightens. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to please live up your left sleeve and show me your arm."

If I were anything less than a lady, I would swear. But I was born and raised a perfect Black lady, and I do not. I merely smile politely. "Of course, sir." I lift up my sleeve, and he steps closer, peering at my arm. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of the black skull with the snake for a tongue branded on my arm, and he looks up at me, much too slowly.

"Obliviate," I murmur, glad there is only one – I am an accomplished witch, but I am not entirely certain I would be able to spell them all before I was bested. I must modify his memory only slightly, only enough so that he remembers only the lovely, regal woman, free of the Dark Mark or anything other than a husband who has done things she had no knowledge of. It is a shame it had to come to this – it would have been better if he'd simply carried the news himself, without any need for magic – but I will do what I must to remain free.

His remain blank until the spell is finished; I pull down my sleeve, smiling sweetly at him as he comes to. "So, as you saw, I have no Dark Mark. I would be grateful if you would leave my home now, sir."

He nods, still not quite recovered. "Of course, ma'am…we'll be leaving now…" he says, looking slightly confused as he calls in his comrades and leads them away. I hope he is convincing enough that no one else feels the need to follow up; it gets more and more dangerous to keep magicking them.

As soon as they are gone, I stand, making my way to the window and ordering a house elf to fetch me a cup of tea. Posture perfect, hands clasped before me, I stare at the gray landscape before me until a house elf announces that my tea is here. I take the cup, and notice for the first time that my hands are shaking, and then I realize that it is not just my hands, it is all of me. I set it down, and when I lift up my hands, watching them shake, my vision blurs. The situation sets in then.

The Ministry knows that the Dark Lord has returned, and the advantage of surprise is lost. Very soon, the world will know, my son will know, that his father has gone to jail. Oh God, Lucius is in jail. And that is the thought that brings me to my knees.

I bury my face in my hands, my knees aching as my legs give out under the weight of that thought – that my husband, the man I have loved for eighteen years, is alone in Azkaban and I am here, the only person who can protect my child, my fortune, and my family name from both the government and the Dark Lord. I am weeping harder than I ever have before, great wrenching sobs that I am suddenly terrified will tear me apart, because I have never felt anything this painful before. Rage and grief and fear combined consume me for hours while I kneel on the hard marble floor. Sometimes I am furious at Lucius for endangering himself and leaving us here to fend for ourselves, and then I am guilty that I even dared to think that he was to blame for this. I rage internally at the Dark Lord for endangering my husband and getting him into this predicament; I rage at the Ministry for daring to imprison Lucius at all. And under it all I try to comprehend that Lucius is suffering and I am alone and everything we have taken for granted these past months is gone.

It is hours later when my sobbing finally ceases; when it is done, I ache from being wracked with such emotion. I kneel for a while longer, not sure I have the strength to stand, before I eventually realize that if I do not stand, the next person to come will find me here, in a most undignified position, in my dressing gown with my hair down, tear stained, red eyed, and completely not fit for company. I stand cautiously, not sure of my ability to even do that after the fierce and painful emotion of the last few hours; when I find I am able to do so, I make my way to my room.

A look in the mirror confirms what I already knew – I am a sight. My hair, while respectable for a woman who has rushed out of bed to answer the door, is a mess. My face is tear-stained and blotchy, my eyes and nose red from tears, my hands and sleeves damp, my dressing gown a mess. I look at myself, seized by sudden, wild amusement – I do not think I have ever in my adult life looked so undignified – and then take a deep breath, reaching for my makeup. This will not do. My husband may be in jail, my heart may be broken, but I am still a Black, I am still a Malfoy, and I will look the part. I will endure, because aside from my son, that is all I have.


	2. Fallen

It is disgusting and hideous to have him in my home, using my dining room, commanding my servants and me and my son, but there is nothing I can do. I was never raised to stand up to people, I was raised to use my femininity to make men believe that anything I wanted was their own idea. This is not the kind of persuasion that will ever work on Lord Voldemort. Even if I had been equipped to put up a fight, I would not have – no one dares stand up to him, and certainly not me, fallen from grace as I have.

Instead, I must sit at the table next to my son, along with other Death Eaters, knowing he takes pleasure in using my house to humiliate me, to make sure I know that I no longer have any control over my life, even in my own home.

I keep my hands in my lap as he sits at the head of the table, in Lucius' chair, and surveys us all. I keep my eyes directed in my lap. He has not punished us yet for what happened at the Ministry, and instead of relieving me, I am only more afraid. His rage will only be worse because most of the others were locked away; by the time he finished with Bella, her hair was stiff with sweat, her throat so hoarse from screaming she did not speak for days. In a way, I would have preferred to share that punishment; he would have vented his rage then, and we would not be waiting for the axe to fall.

"Well," he finally says, "a new member has joined us recently. I trust you all are familiar with Draco Malfoy?"

Murmurs of assent come from those gathered, tinged with confusion. Like me, they had all expected Lucius' wife and child would be punished for his failings; they had not expected that his son would be allowed to join.

He smiles, and I almost suspect that it it is less an expression of real pleasure than just a habit left over from when he was still human. That, or he is relishing something yet to come.

"Given the boy's father's recent failure, I felt that he should be given a chance to prove himself," he continues. "Draco, please stand."

He does, and the Dark Lord smiles again. "I have an important task for you, boy. There is a certain…someone…who I feel must be eliminated; he is an obstacle to all I hope to accomplish." He is almost purring now. "I take it you are familiar with Albus Dumbledore? He is headmaster at your school…"

Draco nods. "Do you accept the task of killing him, Draco?"

My son's chest puffs up with pride even as dread fills me. "I do," he says, his face alight with joy at the prospect of proving himself and bringing honor to the family once more.

Meanwhile, I am screaming inside. Albus Dumbledore is a master, one of the greatest wizards ever known; my son has no chance at beating him. He is proud and brave and smart and strong, but he is a child, however much he wants to be a man, and against a man like Dumbledore he will not win. I do not know what the Dark Lord hopes to accomplish by sending my son on this mission, but he cannot truly believe that Draco will succeed.

"My Lord, there are many accomplished wizards here tonight, best among us you…surely there must be a better candidate to carry out this task than a sixteen year old boy?" I say. Draco shoots me a look of pure fury, but I ignore him. He can hate me; but I will not allow this to go on without at least trying to get him out of this.

The Dark Lord smiles slowly at me, and I think for a moment that he must have wanted me to ask. "Why, Narcissa, surely you are eager for this chance to prove that the Malfoys are still among my most loyal servants?"

I do not meet his eye – I do not have the courage – instead staring at his hands. "My Lord, you need only ask me to go, and I will do this. But surely my son cannot be the best chance we have of destroying Dumbledore."

"Oh, but Narcissa," he says, "Draco here has such a…unique…opportunity. He does go to the man's school, does he not? And he must be longing for a chance to prove himself worthy to be a Death Eater…"

"I will not fail," my son announces, shooting another glare at me. "I can do it. I will do it."

I look up to see the Dark Lord smiling at me cruelly. "See, Narcissa? The boy wishes for a chance to prove himself…and he shall get it…" And I finally understand.

He does not mean for my child to survive at all. We have been waiting for our punishment, and this is it – he will kill my son on this suicide mission, we will fall from grace, never to return, and Lucius and I will have to live without our son. And there is nothing I can do; there is no hope in defying the Dark Lord. He hopes this will happen, and I know it will, simply because he is that cruel.

He nods at Draco. "You may be seated, boy." Draco sits, glancing at me and setting his jaw. He looks away. What does he think of me? Does he think that his mother has just tried to steal his glory? I do not care. I do not care if my son hates me until the day he dies; as long as he is alive to do it. He is my boy, my only child, and I cannot think of a way to save his life, even though I try desperately. There is no one I can turn to, no one who will help the fallen Malfoys, and no one who will defy the Dark Lord to do it.

The Dark Lord glances as me once more, smiling again, before moving on to other matters. He knows that inside I am dying, he knows that it will destroy both me and Lucius to lose our son, and that is why he is doing it. I have been waiting for the axe to fall, but I had not expected it to come like this – I had expected him to take out his anger on me. I had expected physical punishment. I had expected to be able to handle it. I had never thought that he would go so far as to punish my child for our transgressions, and I do not believe Lucius thought so either.

I keep my mind blank until the meeting is adjourned, terrified that I will think something traitorous and the Dark Lord will know, or that I will simply break down right there. Neither happens, and it is only after everyone is gone that I begin to think again.

I turn to look at Draco. Even angry at me, even though he is taller than I am, even though he looks more like a man, he is still my little boy. He is still my child, even as he storms away, and I will do anything to save him.


	3. Madness

I sit in the sitting room, sipping a cup of tea. Lately, I feel as though some part of me has turned to stone – even though Severus has offered some hope, some chance that he might be able to save my son, the fear that I will lose both him and Draco has taken its toll on me. Even though Bellatrix teaches him, even though he learns from the best, I am so afraid. Because if I lose my son, they lose me. I love Lucius more than life, but I love my son more, and if Draco dies, there is just no more reason to live. From the moment he was born, it was as though half my heart was there, outside my body, and I do not know a witch or wizard who could survive that loss.

This is what I am thinking when my sister marches into the room.

"Cissy, what is the matter?" she asks me, imperiously waving off an elf asking if she would like anything. She sits down beside me, taking my hands and summoning what I suspect is all the love left in her to give me a look of concern. "You're not still fretting about Draco, are you?"

I reclaim my hands. I love my sister, but I am in no mood for her today. "My son is in mortal danger every day now, Bella. Of course I am afraid."

She gives a sigh of frustration. "Cissy, why do you insist on worrying so much? The Dark Lord has honored him with a chance to prove himself, to restore the family name – you should be proud! Draco is, he is not afraid to do what must be done, to serve the Dark Lord-"

I stand up, unable to take being so close to my sister and her single minded devotion. "He is only a child, Bella. He is my child, and he may well die. The Dark Lord certainly wishes so! I do not care about the family name – I only care that my son is alive."

"You should be proud!" She repeats, as though uncertain that I have heard her. "You have a son to give in the service of the Dark Lord! You should be grateful that he is being given the chance, that neither of you have had to suffer as I have suffered for him, that he is willing to overlook the failings of your husband to give Draco a chance!"

"Do not blame my husband!" I hiss, turning on Bellatrix. "Don't you dare blame Lucius, and don't you dare say that Draco's assignment is a chance to prove himself when you know as well as I do that all it is is a way to get rid of my son without the Dark Lord dirtying his hands!" A tear drips down my face, not a rare occurrence since Lucius' arrest and the Dark Lord's retaliation. "Don't you make him out to be merciful when all he wants is to take away everything I have left!"

Bella's eyes widen, filled with a mixture of rage and fear. "You dare think to defy him?" she asks incredulously.

I laugh bitterly. "I defied him when I asked Severus to save my son. I defied him when I thought of any way to protect Draco. I am not mindless, Bella. The Dark Lord is not the only one who's interests I serve. I have myself and my family to think of."

Bella draws herself up to her full height – taller than me. "I have said it before and I will say it again," she says, as though any affront to the Dark Lord is an affront to her. "If I had children, I would gladly give them to serve Him! You should be grateful, you should be proud!"

Madness has always run in our family – my aunt, my uncle, my parents, all are examples of that. I had thought that I was free of it, that I had escaped it. Bella hadn't – even before Azkaban, she was never entirely sane, and Azkaban and the dementors broke her mind completely. I feared for Lucius sometimes, feared that he would go the way of so many before him, my sister among them – he would go mad, and I would lose him forever. But I had never worried about myself, never feared that I might carry the seed of madness somewhere in me.

Perhaps I should have, because somewhere in me, something breaks when my own sister tells me I should be grateful, I should be proud, to sacrifice my only child.

I laugh hysterically. "But you don't, do you, Bella?" I croon. "Did you ever tell Rodolphus that you're barren? Did you ever explain to him why you have never fulfilled your greatest duty to your husband and given him an heir?"

Her eyes bulge. No one but our mother has ever mentioned this, and even then only in private; it is not a subject lightly spoken of. To be barren is one of the greatest failings of a Pureblood woman. Bella knows this; we all know this.

I press my advantage while she is still recovering from my betrayal. "What is the matter, darling sister? Did you think I'd forgotten that flaw of yours?"

She lifts up her hand and slaps me, raking four fingernail marks down my skin. I do not care; I am past caring about something as trivial as physical pain. "You dare…" she pants, breathless with fury, "you dare say that I am unworthy? That I have failed? You dare even mention this?"

I shriek with laughter. "Of course I dare, sister? Did I not tell you there is nothing I wouldn't do anymore? You thought I would be willing to curse you, but not to remind you that you, for all your breeding and talent and loyalty, cannot do your duty in this world and pass that breeding on? That you cannot bear an heir to carry on the Black and Lestrange bloodline?"

She slaps me again, unable to verbalize her hate. I laugh again. Somewhere I know that this is mad, that no sane woman laughs when she is struck, while she lashes out at her family. But then, this is in my blood; I may have been headed here all along.

I slap Bellatrix back this time, and then I grab her by the arms. "You think before you discard my son," I tell her, and this time I am not hysterical, I am deadly serious. "You think before you pass him over as unimportant. There are no male Black heirs left; there are almost no heirs at all. Andromeda left, Regulus is dead, Sirius-" I sneer at the blood traitor's name, "-is dead, thanks to you. There are only you, and me. And, given your…condition…" she struggles and I smile, an equal mix of amusement and cruelty, "my son is the only heir left. Since you are not able to provide heirs, it would seem my son is more important than you think." I release her, and she steps away, hissing like an animal, eyes narrowed. Perhaps she does not recognize me this way. That is understandable; I do not recognize myself.

"The noble and most ancient house of Black," I whisper. "_Toujours pur. _Bloodlines do not matter if they end, Bella. My son is the only heir of the Black and Malfoy families, two of the oldest and most influential families in the wizarding world. Do you really think he is unimportant?"

Bella snarls, turning on her heel and walking away, firing off curses as she goes. And I do not care. I do not care what damage she does to my home and my possessions, because with my son threatened and my husband in jail, I simply do not have the strength to worry about something that trivial.

"Mistress?" One of the house elves approaches me warily. "Noddy will care for Mistress' wounds if Mistress desires…"

I brush past him, sending him staggering backwards. When I reach the nearest mirror, I peer into it, examining the scratches my sister has left on my face. They are bleeding – she wears her nails long – and I touch them, almost fascinated. I have never been struck in my life; I was simply too valuable when I was a child, as a bride, and Lucius would never hurt me. They sting, but I do not mind the pain, it is a distraction, albeit a small one, and it cannot compare to what has been going through my head these past weeks.

After I look at them, I raise my wand, tapping my cheek. They are not hard to heal, and neither is the bruise in the shape of my sister's hand, and when I am finished the skin is only slightly pinker than it was before. I swipe my fingers under my eyes, wiping away the mascara from my tears. I look into the mirror, and I see the calm, collected woman I was a few months before Lucius was arrested and everything changed. There is no sign that I am dying inside; that I have cried so much I wonder that I have anything left in me; that there is a great empty space inside me from my husband's absence and my fear for Draco. There is no sign that I have slapped my sister, brought up the one thing we do not mention, that I have crossed all boundaries. I look so normal, so sane, that I marvel at it. It is almost as though the family madness has never broken free. But I know better.


	4. Fear

**Ugh. This one is really short and crappy, but I thought it would be nice. At least one more coming.**

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I scan the group of Slytherins filing into the clearing, desperately looking for my son, aware of my husband beside me doing the same. We have not seen Draco since Potter and his friends escaped; he are lucky he escaped injury. We are not so lucky; Lucius' face is still swollen, and my own body bears the cuts and bruises of our punishment. We are both wandless; Lucius' was broken months ago, and Draco has mine. We are in disgrace, battered and bruised and dirty and with all the ability to cast spells as a Muggle.

And neither of us care, as long as our son is here, alive and well.

But we cannot find him.

I desperately search the crowds. I see nothing of my child. Lucius squeezes my hand. "He will be here," he says, more to convince himself than to convince me, but I am grateful for it anyway.

I look for Vincent and Gregory, too – Draco is rarely without them, and if he is not here, at least they can explain why. But while I see Theodore and Pansy and other children of friends, I do not see any of my son's friends, and I am seized with fear.

Gripping Lucius' hand tightly, I pull him forward, towards Pansy. If Gregory and Vincent are not here to ask, perhaps she can answer questions as to the whereabouts of my son…

"Pansy," I say, trying to keep my voice safely neutral and unstrained, "Draco is coming, yes? He came with you?"

The girl looks around, uncaring. "He was with us when we left," she says, beginning to back away from me, headed towards her friends. "I don't know where he's got to…maybe he's gone back with Slughorn…he's been odd lately, gotten soft…" she creeps away from me, and Lucius and I have each other's hands in death grips.

"He wouldn't have," I say, praying to God or anything else that might be listening that it's not true, that he would not do anything so dangerous and suicidal. But where is he? Why would he have slipped off? Where is my son?

"Lucius," the Dark Lord summons, and my husband leaves, going to his side. He smiles cruelly. "I noticed that your son appears to be…absent…" he says, clearly relishing our shame and fear. "Did he decide to stay and fight us, perhaps?"

Lucius' voice shakes as he answers. "He is a good boy, my Lord. He will remain loyal."

The Dark Lord's smile grows wider. "Let us hope so, Lucius…I wish you to accompany me. Your wife shall remain with Bellatrix..."

My heart squeezes with dread. Why does he need Lucius? He doesn't even have a wand, he does not seek our company now that we have failed so many times…please God, he cannot mean to kill my husband, not now, I need him so much…

Bella seizes me, dragging me out of the crowd. She grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. I can see the hate in her eyes; she never forgave me for bringing up her barrenness, and again because it was our family mansion that Potter escaped from. She, at least, is back in favor – she has always been the favorite of the Dark Lord. Whether it is because she was once his student, or because her twisted mind matches his, or simply because she is incredibly skilled and unswervingly loyal to him, I do not know. But she, at least, has a new wand. She, at least, does not carry the wounds I do.

"Has poor baby Dwaco gone to pway wif fwiends?" she coos at me, her put upon baby voice shrill and grating even though it is quiet. "Has mommy's baby boy gone to tattle on the big bad meanie?"

"Enough, Bella," I say. "Lucius is right. He will not betray us."

"Then why isn't he here?" she hisses, dropping the voice in a second and leaning in close, her foul breath in my face. "Where has your cowardly spawn gone now, Narcissa?"

"Don't you dare call my son a coward, don't you dare insult him-" I hiss back, before I am cut off.

"I'll call him whatever I like! Where is he, Cissy?" she demands.

"I do not know," I admit. "Please, Bella, help us talk to him, help us convince him to let us find our son…"

She laughs. "Your precious husband is with him, why can he not do it? Are you afraid he doesn't have the courage? Or the persuasion?"

"We are not in favor like you are, you might be able to convince him to let us go-"

"What do you expect him to do, call off the battle?" Bella laughs again derisively. "The Dark Lord will do what is best, Cissy. I will not deign to question him."

"Surely…" I say, swallowing. "Surely he is concerned that someone else may kill Potter? Does he not…wish to find him himself?"

Bella shakes her head. "You have no hope of convincing him. Hope your son isn't as much of a traitor and a coward as I think, Cissy. He may yet be forgiven if he has not betrayed us. Maybe if he is fighting for us he will gain some sort of favor for your little family," she says, crooning the last bit.

"You don't know what its like," I say, trying desperately to reach some small bit of humanity in my sister. "It's like he's a part of me, and he is in so much danger…how will I survive losing him?"

"Perhaps if he dies, you will be rewarded for sacrificing such an important part of you," she says coldly. "The Dark Lord does not care if you die, Cissy, and if he does not, neither do I. Go plead with someone else who is pathetic enough to fall for it."


	5. I Don't Care

We have been waiting for an hour for Potter to make his appearance in the clearing. The Dark Lord was sure he would come, but so far, he has not, and we are all on edge, wondering who will bear the brunt of his wrath should the boy fail to come at all.

He is not the only one who has yet to make an appearance – my son is not here at all. Lucius and I have both tried – Lucius tried to convince the Dark Lord, and I Bella, but to no avail. All we can do is wait for this war to be over, and pray that our son will still be alive when it is. We stand together, slightly apart from the rest of the group, trying to draw comfort from each other and knowing that neither of us has any to give.

"He will survive," Lucius murmurs, trying to assuage some of my fear. "He is a good, smart boy…he will be fine."

I know he is good, I know he is smart, but there are others in there who are better, smarter, more ruthless. He is only a child. How can he be expected to fight this war? Why would he even think to try?

After that, they wait in silence, for their son, for Harry Potter, or for the Dark Lord to admit that the boy has not played into his hands after all.

When Yaxley and Dolohov report that there is no sign of the boy, I half expect the Dark Lord to kill them both. Instead, he merely admits he was mistaken. I brace myself for the fallout, and then a voice from the trees announces his mistake, and Harry Potter steps out from the trees.

We all freeze for a moment, as the boy and the Dark Lord stare at each other. And then the others jeer, the giants howl, and the prisoner – the oaf Hagrid – shouts for the boy to leave. Rowle silences him, and the Dark Lord and Potter face each other once more.

"Harry Potter," the Dark Lord says softly. "The boy who lived."

Everything is silent for a moment, and I search the boy's face for a sign of fear – surely he must know what is coming next. He is only pale and resolute, and for a moment I am reminded of my own child, undertaking a task no one his age should have to face.

The Dark Lord raises his wand. A green jet shoots out.

As both the boy and the Dark Lord fall, I think, for a moment, of Lily Evans. She never saw her son grow up, never saw him face tasks he shouldn't have had to, never saw fear drain his energy until his face was drawn and white as snow. She died for her son, and her husband died for her.

She was a Mudblood, and I am Pureblood, but we are not so different – I would have done the same. I would give anything to do the same for my son right now.

Bella screams as the Dark Lord falls where he stands. Someone moves as though to go to his side first, and she points her wand. There is a bang and a shout, and whoever it was falls back as she races to his side.

Murmurs of concern for our Lord fill the air as both he and the boy lay motionless on the ground. Bella kneels by his side, crooning, and other draw near.

For a few long moments, there is nothing. And then the Dark Lord stirs, and Bella croons, "My Lord…my Lord…"

At his dismissal, everyone backs away; only Bella remains, and I suppose it is a sign of either his own weakness or her favor that he does not curse her away. He does not allow her to offer him assistance, however. He merely gets to his feet and asks if the boy is dead.

I glance at him, along with the others. No sign of life.

The Dark Lord looks at me and points his wand. "You," he says, and a bang echoes as the all too familiar pain overwhelms me. I cannot help it, I cry out, and I see Lucius' face tighten is a wince that no one else notices, but it is over quickly.

I make my way over, praying that he is dead. We must get to the castle, we must get in, and he will not go if the boy is alive. I do not care if he wins or loses, I do not care. I only want to find my son.

I touch the boy, lift back an eyelid. I am gentle; my thoughts as he fell reminded me. He is someone's son, someone died for him when he was a child. Lily Evans died for her son. The least I can do is be gentle with him, dead or alive.

I can feel their eyes on me as I reach under his shirt, feeling for his heart. I lean close, letting my hair shield my face. I can feel it, feel his heart beating, and any other time I might marvel that he has survived, but not now. I just don't care.

Summoning all of my skill as an Occlumens, I whisper to the boy, "Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?"

And I hear his breathe back, "Yes."

I lift my head, turn to the Dark Lord, and lie to him, the most dangerous thing one can do. I pray that he cannot see into my mind, sense the lie as I tell him, "he is dead."

All around me, celebration explodes, and I allow my elation to show, knowing that any around me will assume it is joy for the triumph of the Dark Lord.

Preparations are made to go back to the castle in triumph as the Dark Lord toys with the body of the boy and I make my way back to my husband. I do not dare speak a word to him, so I keep the secret close to my chest – both Harry Potter and my son are alive.

Once all has been settled, we make our way to the castle, part of the victorious army. The announcement is made to the forest and the opposing army, that Harry Potter is dead and they have lost. The centaurs watch us pass, but do not try to stop us.

We stop when we have reached the castle, the winners glorying in the despair of those who have lost. Some scream when they see the boy in the arms of the giant, and I know what they feel – I have kept that despair at bay for hours when I did not know if my son was alive or dead. Bella laughs, elated at the pain of others.

The crowds fight, seemingly immune to the spells of the Dark Lord as they refuse his attempts to force them to join him. The Dark Lord knows nothing of humans, he cannot fathom why the losers might continue to defy the winners, why there are some forces more powerful than him in the world, why a mother might defy him to save her son.

And then all hell breaks loose. I am shocked as the centaurs and the lone giant on the side of Hogwarts attacks; we all scatter, trying to avoid the arrows. Some deflect them, but Lucius and I merely dodge – we have no wands. The boy the Dark Lord was trying to kill is seemingly unharmed as he kills the snake, and the defenders race forward, eager to continue fighting even though they believe their hero is dead, perhaps because of it. The other Death Eaters fight, even though they are overwhelmed, but I grab Lucius' hand.

"Narcissa?" he says, confused, as I drag him forward.

"Draco's alive the boy is alive he told me Draco is in the castle," I say, unable to be more clear than that, but it is enough, because I am no longer pulling Lucius.

"Draco!" he calls out, desperate, praying our son is not in this mess. He dodges a spell and races ahead. "Draco!"

I add my calls to his, oblivious to the confusion of the defenders and the rage on the faces of our former comrades. More than a few attempt to stop us and curse us. Nott points his wand at me; Lucius crashes into him, knocking him out of the way. We look like lunatics, but all we care about is Draco.

We run, screaming, into the parts of the castle where there is less fighting, but we cannot find our son. He must be alive, the boy swore he was alive, he has to be here…we cannot bear it if he is not.

Finally, just as we are exhausted, our lungs burning, and we are beginning to give up hope, we hear it. "Mum? Dad?"

His voice is so small and scared; he no longer sounds like a proud teenager, he sounds like a scared little boy. We wheel about, eyes seizing on him. He is ragged and burned, and bears the marks of the battle. He is with Gregory; I do not ask where Vincent is. Wherever he is, it is likely he did not survive this war.

Lucius reaches him before I do, tossing aside all thoughts of propriety and class to wrap both arms around his son, as though he never intends to let go. They are both crying, and so am I as I reach them a moment later, crooning nonsense, "my baby, my baby, it's okay, we're okay…"

There is a battle raging around us, we are ruined, but none of us care, simply because after the fear of the last few months, that we would not survive, all of us being here, relatively unharmed, is enough.


End file.
